Chapter Eight #2
His sibling grinned. “Ye’ll know soon enough. She cooked yer supper. I hope yer stomach is stronger than yer tolerance to jesting.”
Brodick turned his attention to the table, fearing what he might see. Attending court didn’t teach a woman how to turn a loaf of bread. But as mistress of the house, his wife could do whatever she pleased in the kitchen. None of the staff would argue with her, even if they knew she was incorrect.
“I have nae seen you so pale since Father caught ye with yer first woman.”
His brother laughed at him, his voice echoing down the supper table. The food there looked wholesome and normal enough to his eye. But it was taste that mattered.
“You will nae be so smug if she laced supper with foxglove.”
“Still so ready to tell me that you will not doubt me at every opportunity, my lord?”
He flushed, the soft voice reprimanding him better than any slap might have. He was being a brute, even if he had been verbally sparring with his brother.
“I meant that for my brother, nae you.”
She paused, sweeping the men at the table with her gaze. Her lips set into a tight line.
“I see, my lord.” Her voice was tight as she added his title.
His wife passed him. A large meat pie in her hands. Steam rose from it, spreading the scent of spices in the air. The men at the table watched them intently. His wife set the pie down. She cut into it with a knife, letting a cloud of steam loose.
“I suppose it is a good thing that I understand how you prefer to have matters settled between us.” She dished up a hearty slice and presented it to him.
Her gaze was steady, the plate unwavering.
Challenge shone from her eyes, sending heat down his body.
Need prickled along his skin, her stance sparking more lust to fill his cock.
The organ twitched, swelling to stand up beneath his kilt. She lifted one eyebrow.
“I thought you said your words were for Cullen. Do you suspect me of foul play?”
The conversations near them died abruptly, his men casting worried looks at them. With a frown, she broke off a chunk of pie. She tossed it into her mouth without a thought, chewing and swallowing it quickly.
She deposited the plate on the table, her face turning red.
“I find I have no stomach for meals frosted with suspicions.”
She lowered herself before turning in a huff and flurry of skirts. But she did it artfully as though she was accustomed to holding her displeasure inside.
He found that fact most unsettling of all.
A man should not be able to hurt her feelings.
Anne fought off tears while her feet moved quickly through the tables. Pain filled her. She hissed with frustration when she entered the hallway. She should not care. It made no sense. So what if the man had doubted her cooking? Let him and every one of his men go to bed with rumbling bellies.
Yet it chafed. His suspicions. She had given him her chastity to prove her worth. That gift she might only bestow on one man her entire life. Hurt filled her chest. She didn’t go up the stairs. The chamber was filled with the memory of the night before and that drew more pain from the wound.
The turmoil gave her feet more speed. Walking through the entry doors of the tower, she moved into the bailey. There was much of Sterling that was still a mystery.
Moving across the courtyard, she paused near the stables.
The horses snorted in their stalls. The musty smell of hay permeated the air.
It was quarter moon now. Little light shone down from the night sky to pierce the night.
Along the walls, fires were lit in iron torch cages.
They were set along the castle fortifications every twenty feet.
There was no lantern left near the stables for fear of fire.
The horses were expensive. No one dare risk losing some of them to a mishap caused by the wind.
But enough light drifted down from the walls. Moving into the stable, she marveled at the number of horses. Hundreds of them stood quietly in the dark all in neat rows. Reaching up, she rubbed a velvet-covered muzzle.
“I didnae say I suspected ye of poisoning my table on purpose.” Brodick’s voice was low but she still heard the exasperation in it. “There be a difference.”
“Yet you stood there afraid to touch the plate.”
Her anger made little sense to her but she couldn’t seem to contain it.
It bubbled up, spilling out of her. She heard him snort.
“What do you expect from me? Am I to sit idle during the day awaiting your return?” She turned on him, pointing a finger at his larger chest. “So that I might spread my thighs to be of service?”
“The idea has merit.” His voice was deep with frustration. He grasped her wrist, tugging her forward. She tumbled into his chest. He locked her against him with a hard arm. “Since we appear to find more peace when we’re fucking, I find that idea very appealing.”
His brogue thickened. A hard hand slapped against her bottom, pushing her hips toward him. His hard cock pressed against her belly.
“That’s what held my attention, Wife. I looked at ye and stiffened up like a fresh-faced lad.”
His lips claimed her in a solid kiss. He demanded surrender but she twisted away from his lips.
With a growl he followed her, one hand gripping the back of her head.
He plundered her mouth, pressing her lips apart.
A hard thrust from his tongue invaded her mouth, drawing a soft moan from her.
Delight washed over her, the heat she’d tried to suppress all day igniting.
His warm male skin smelled so good. Her hands spread, searching for the button that held his collar closed.
She needed to touch him. Wanted to press against him.
“I spent half the day thinking about getting back between yer thighs.”
He didn’t sound very happy about it, either. But his confession pleased her, her nipples tingling behind her stays.
“I thought about you as well.”
The words tumbled past her lips. There was no considering them. The grip on the back of her head softened.
“Och lass, we’ve more than our share of passion, that’s for sure.”
The hand on her bottom began stroking her. Heat moved through her passage in response, hot and heavy need settling inside her. The hard outline of his cock was a teasing torment to her. She shuddered as her clitoris pulsed, hungry for friction.
“Best ye ken, lass. I will never send ye back to yer father.”
There was a hard edge to his voice. Fierce possession that somehow made her feel cherished. He picked her up, sweeping her up against his chest as if she were no more than a child.
“Ye’re mine and I dinnae care if I have to remind ye of that over and over.”
He carried her into an empty stall. There was new hay on the ground, smelling clean and fresh.
Brodick knelt, lowering her to the floor as he followed her.
The hay got caught in her hair as he pressed her back onto it, his lips finding hers and taking them in another long kiss.
The tip of his tongue stroked over her lower lip before thrusting into her mouth to tease her tongue.
“Since ye were a maiden, ye’ve never been tumbled in the hay afore.” He rose above her on his elbows, a shadowy figure. “I feel the need to introduce ye to trysting.”
“A tryst is between lovers.” But it made her breathless. Excitement made her voice sultry.
“And ye nae think a husband might serve as a lover?” His fingers found the buttons of her doublet, working them loose. “I assure ye I’m up to the task.”
She suddenly felt bold. Reaching down, she found the bulge of his cock. A harsh breath was his response as she stroked it through the pleats of his kilt.
“A statement that I must insist you prove.”
She pushed at his wide shoulders, unsure if he would allow her to lead him. The night didn’t let her see his expression. She pushed harder, lifting her own shoulders up. He dropped back as she sat up.
“I’ve heard a few tales of trysts and lovers’ ways.”
“I insist that ye confess every one of them to me.”
With one hand, she loosened the button at his collar. She stroked her fingers down the center of his chest, easing between the edges of his open shirt.
“The church does command that a wife obey her husband.” She stopped with her hand beneath his shirt, the crisp hair on his chest holding her attention.
“It does indeed.”
His words were clipped. It was very arousing the way he laid so still when she knew he was much stronger than she. A fragile trust threaded its way between them, unleashing her curiosity.
“I heard that there is more than one type of kiss. A meeting of lips and male flesh that the French ladies use to beguile their lovers.”
“Who told ye about that?”
She shrugged, trailing her fingers over his belt.
There was no way to tell him that the servants knew absolutely everything in a large estate.
When important nobles had visited Warwickshire, the nightly escapades provided many evenings of entertainment for the gossips.
Just because she was a maiden did not mean she hadn’t heard exactly how men and women coupled.
She stopped over his cock, her hand resting on top of the hard bulge.
“I suppose I could put it out of my mind…”
A hard hand gripped her hair. He wound her thick braid around his hand. The hold drew her against his chest.
“Lift my kilt and try it, lass. I dare ye.”
She stroked her fingers to the edge of his kilt, fingering the fabric. “Does that mean you’re not afraid I might bewitch you? I hear many Puritans believe pleasure of the flesh to be the work of demons leading us sinners to eternal damnation.”
He pressed her back against the hay. She gasped at the speed with which he rose up.
There was a great deal of power in his body.
It should have frightened her but she trusted him.
That was often the difference between a lover and a husband.
The lover you shared your body with. A husband you prayed might not be too much to bear.